


Demain, dès l'aube

by MagicRedhead



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A bit of gore description, Bag End, M/M, Poetry, The Shire, Victor Hugo - Freeform, the ring - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicRedhead/pseuds/MagicRedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo discusses how he misses Thorin, while is still in the Shire preparing for his trip. </p><p>He will go back to Erebor to find him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demain, dès l'aube

**Author's Note:**

> “Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,  
> Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.  
> J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.  
> Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
> 
> Tomorrow, at dawn, in the hour when the countryside becomes white,  
> I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me.  
> I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.  
> I cannot stay away from you any longer.”  
> -Victor Hugo

“Master Hamfast! I’m leaving the keys under the hyacinth pot! You do remember I’m starting my journey tomorrow, right?” Bilbo screamed through the window.

The gardener waved his straw hat and smiled fondly at the hobbit. “Don’t you worry about anything Master Baggins, I will take care of everything, and I do well remember what you’ve been repeating me these past few weeks. I’m not a young hobbit anymore but I haven’t reached my hundreds yet, thank you very much.”

Bilbo hoomphed and turned back to the inside of his smial. His shadow reflected in his well-polished parquet floor. He was no longer a youngster himself. His hair was not the warm brown it used to be, but got stained with grey bits. His belly was rounder than it used to be, but his calves and feet remained lithe and swift. He just turned eighty this last months and thought it was time for him to go. Since he returned from his adventure with the Oakenshield’s company, his life has been dull.

He has always been considered odd among Hobbits, taking long strolls through the forests surrounding the Shire, leaving sometimes for a few days. Trying to spot elves, and exchanging news of the world with the passing dwarves. But leaving for a year and coming home talking of dragons was a line not to be crossed, apparently. It took him a few years to get back all his stolen properties. Their nice relatives and friendly neighbours had the kindness to buy all his belongings during the auction that took place when they thought he was dead. For safe keeping, obviously. He had to rebuy most of it, with the gold he had so hardly won. Almost all of his chest filled with silver was spend over this. 

In the end, he got so fed up with his kind relatives keeping a hold on his treasured possessions, that he got the habit to make a round of the neighbourhood every evening. He walked through the paths of the hills with a lantern, knocking and every door and asking politely for them. The Sackville-Bagginses often pretended they were not home, so he often had to bang the door and scream: “I know you are in there! I know you still have my spoons! You have until the end of the week or I swear on the wrath of Yavanna, I’ll send a letter to Erebor and ask for a few of their guards to come and raid this smial on this instant.”

His threats were unanswered for months, so he took drastic measures. One night, when the whole Shire was asleep and the night darkened with clouds, and after hours of staying awake in front of his fire, looking angrily at it, the Hobbit slipped his magic ring on his finger. He padded quietly through their home and stepped on his distant relative’s smial. The door creaked as he opened it, but apart from that, he walked smoothly toward their kitchen and took his silver spoons from a drawer. “I knew it,” he thought. “All thieves, these Sackville-Bagginses. Dratted, awful thieves.” His heart racing, he ran to his house and hid the precious spoons in a closed chest. Even now, years after, thinking about this night left a sour taste in his mouth.

The Hobbit waved these awful thought and padded toward his bedroom, took an almost-filled backpack and went quickly through its content: “Let’s see, three shirts, one woollen jumper in case it get chilly over the mountain, another pair of pants, you never know when troll snot can land on you… Handkerchiefs…” A faint smile tugged at his lips, and his whisper went quiet. He closed the backpack and took it back to the front of the smial. The bag ended up being tossed in front of a wooden round door, next to a well-used, carved walking stick.

About 30 years ago, he took a step outside this very door, and ended up lurching on an adventure with a pack of dwarves. This adventure turned out to be one of the most important things that ever happened in his life. Bilbo Baggins heaved a sigh and put one hand over his hip while the other fiddle in his jumper’s pocket. “Thirty years, dearest, it’s about time we pay this stubborn dwarf a visit, what do you say?”

His words echoed in the vast and empty entry of his smial. The round door facing him briefly reminded him of a solitary eye looking at him, and Bilbo had to look away. Bile rose in his throat as he retreated toward the inner room of his hobbit hole. He walked through the kitchen and bend over the kitchen range, his hands and fingers gripping the wooden stove. The Hobbit took a few quick breaths while spitting curses. For years, he had put this task behind him. But he knew he couldn’t wait anymore. Tomorrow, he would be leaving, there was no postponing it. Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain has been expecting him long enough and Bilbo Baggins’ heart was clenching at this idea.

One of the last time he saw Thorin, he was spilling his blood and insides over the ice. Choking on his own blood while trying to tell the Hobbit last words of confort. This vision of him haunted Bilbo and he couldn’t shake it out. He tried to bury himself in his books or cooking recipes, but he always got dragged toward his map, drawings of mountains, or scrapped the runes he remembered from the dwarves tattoos on the wood of his work table. 

During long and lonely evenings, he would stare at his fire, while being comfortably sitting on his armchair. His head lost in reminiscing the blue haze of Thorin’s gaze while he was clumsily holding Bilbo’s hand to his bloody chest. Picturing how his long black and silvery hair was spreading around the dwarf’s head like dark flowers on a deathbed. 

But no more of that, he decided a while ago. He was an old enough hobbit to face his old demons, therefore, he would travel to Erebor once more, alone if he must, and stare his ancient friend right in the face. 

The Hobbit raised his shaking hands, fingers white at every joint, took the teapot and poured water in it. It took him three trials to get a fire burning on the stove. He stood there, watching the water warm up. His jaw was set and eyes dark. After a while, shouts coming from the garden snapped his attention back. He turned his head toward the outside windows and his scowl deepened. His lips receded to show his teeth and he hissed. The light was too bright over there compared to the comfortable shade of his kitchen. He relentlessly dragged his feet toward the dratted door and stepped outside.

“Master Baggins! Bell was here but a few seconds ago and dropped this for you. Your supplies are ready, and she wishes you a safe journey.” The Gaffer gave Bilbo a small leather bag, apparently filled with food for the travel.

Bilbo took it and heaved it, forcing a smile on his face. “You will thank your wife for me, Master Hamfast. She is very kind.” 

Hamfast Gamgee and his wife were one of the only Hobbits that showed him kindness or were respectful and friendly with him. Master Hamfast’s wife often went to the market for him, or took care of some errands in his stead. When Bilbo Baggins just got back from his journey, he expected gossips and glances. But he hadn’t thought this peculiar situation would last for years, with all conversations ending as soon as he would enter the local inn. Or people changing seats whenever he would try to engage a conversation with them over a fine ale. 

Buying groceries became a hardship for the retired burglar, because he couldn’t stand the way other Hobbits were throwing suspicious glances at him on the marketplace, waiting for him to snap. They would step out of his way if he dared to walk a bit briskly, and parents dragged their children by the hand out of his sight. It made him cringe and go wary. The wish to simply slip on his magic ring and vanish from their sight was so tempting during these times. After a few awful afternoons where Bilbo had to hide behind a bushy alley, and use the protection of his beloved ring to flee toward his home, he took the decision to pay Master Hamfast and his wife to occasionally buy things for him. 

“Ah it’s no bother for us, Master Baggins. Don’t stay away too long, that’s our only wish. It didn’t do any good to you the last time.”

Bilbo waved the recommendation away and went back to his smial. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it for a while. A cup of tea, a book, and one last night of good sleep on his comfy bed. That was all he wanted.

He sat up on his bed while the night was still pitch dark. The darkness was chilling and he stood there, sitting under the warm blankets, enjoying it one last time. Then he stood and swiftly dressed up. “We are leaving again, aren’t we? The sun will be rising soon, birds will sing, farmers will go on their fields. And Bilbo Baggins will march out of the Shire’s roads once more.”


	2. I will walk, eyes fixed on my thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo arrives in Rivendell and cross the Misty Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,  
> Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,  
> Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,  
> Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
> 
> I will walk, eyes fixed on my thoughts,  
> Without seeing anything outside, nor hearing any noise,  
> Alone, unknown, the back curved, the hands crossed,  
> Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.”  
> -Victor Hugo

“Master Baggins! Wait! Come back!” 

Bilbo heard distant shouts, and muted voices calling his name. He’s been walking for days now, maybe weeks, he hasn’t counted. The whole journey seemed blurry in his head. Paths, forests and landscape merged in greens and browns flashes. His mind was set on only one task: putting one foot in front of the other. Head bowed down, watching the road unroll beneath his strides. He has stumbled on rocks or roots once or twice. Fallen on his knees and stayed there for a while. Catching his breath and holding his hands on his chest, trying to retain the sobs trying to escape him. Eventually, he would rise up and started walking again. 

The cries were closer now. He came to a halt and turned around. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus his gaze. The light was too bright in this part of the forest, that was not normal. The night has already fallen, it appeared, why would there be light here. Shiny shapes were approaching fast, running. 

“Master Baggins! Please stop! This is the wrong path!”

Several elves approached him and one took his hand. The Hobbit had not seen him before. He looked up to examine the Elf’s face. 

“Follow us, Rivendell is this way, we’ll lead you. Don’t get astray in these lands, it can be dangerous, Master Baggins, are you alright?”

“I don’t think I have met you before,” stated Bilbo. 

“We heard you were traveling through this land and got worried when you did not arrive in time. Lord Elrond sent us to look after you, making sure no harm has befallen you.”

Bilbo Baggins nodded and let the Elf guide him, still holding his hand. The other few elves were looking at him with their brow furrowed with worry. The Hobbit blew up an exasperated sigh and bowed his head again, looking at his feet advancing, trusting the Elf to lead him. 

The lights of Rivendell were hurting his eyes, shining in the dark night. He was scowling when his gaze met Lord Elrond’s. The Elf had his eyebrows raised up almost to his hair and went on one knee before the Hobbit. 

“My dear friend, what happened to you? Did you get lost? Why would you travel after the sun has disappeared? We were lucky to find you in time. Next time, send us a message before leaving the Shire, and we will meet you on the way.”

Bilbo snapped. “There is no need to lecture me, my friend, I was well aware of what I was doing. Hobbits are grown adults, we don’t need your help, the Elves should be reminded of that more often. Even if we are smaller than your children.” 

Lord Elrond took the Hobbit’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m aware of that, dear friend. Worry was clouding my speech, don’t take offense. Please eat and take some sleep, we will talk once you are well fed and rested.”

****

“Ada, what is wrong with Bilbo? What happened in the Shire?” 

Arwen approached Elrond from behind his back, and stopped next to him. Lord Elrond had both hands gripping the fence of a balcony. The Hobbit could be seen in a garden below, sitting on a bench, back curved, lost in gazing at the floor in front of him.

“Nothing happened, I’m afraid I don’t know what has befallen him. We found him astray on the forest last night. He was not responding to our calls,” Elrond sighed. “Lindir had to drag him there by the hand. I tried to converse with him, but he only angry and foul words came out of his mouth. He has eaten, as Hobbits are expected, but has not moved from this spot since.”

“But he used to be so lively,” Arwen exclaimed, her voice high with concern. “He used to be curious about news of the world, to be eager to read us poetry. He would always have new writings to show me, and nice words. Should I talk to him, Ada?”

Elrond turned to face his daughter, and pressed one hand over her cheek. “The sight of you always brings people happiness. Bilbo has always felt great affection toward you. I’m sure it will lightens his heart.”

****

Arwen walked slowly through the garden and sat on Bilbo’s bench, next to him.

“Good morning, Bilbo. Ada told me you arrived last night. I am chagrined you did not visit me. I have some surprises for you I’ve been waiting for months to give.”

Bilbo did not lift his head and replied: “Good morning, my Lady Arwen. I thank you for your kindness but I won’t be staying long. I have business to attend to, and staying in Rivendell is only delaying me.”

“Business? But Bilbo you just arrived!” Arwen gasped.

Bilbo lifted his eyes to stare at her in the eyes, and took her hand. “My Lady Arwen, don’t trouble yourself. I am used to traveling alone, and I must be swift in this journey. I will ask of you not to ask what I am doing, for I know the meddling Elves usually do.”

Arwen rose up to these words and took a step back. Bilbo smiled softly at her, but the look of it only increased the Lady’s fear. The Hobbit’s eyes were empty and clouded. His grin was more of a grimace than a sympathy gesture. Darkness, pain and misery surrounded Bilbo Baggins, flowing waves of despair into Arwen’s own soul. She retreated and almost run out of the garden.

Bilbo hissed and got up slowly. He noticed Elves watching him, from the balcony, or doors. Sure that Lord Elrond was watching him. Preventing him to continue his quest, like he always did. So patronizing. So much was to be expected, the Hobbit thought himself a fool for following the Elves the previous night, and talking to the Lady. He walked back to the room that had been given to him. An Elf was waiting in front of it. 

“I am going to get some rest, so you can sod off. There is no need to bother me with useless talks and riddles,” Bilbo barked at him. The Elf retreated with a blank mask of fear on his face.

****

The Hobbit did not appear for dinner this evening. After one hour of waiting, Lord Elrond walked up to his room and knocked. Hearing nothing, he opened the door. The Hobbit had vanished. Everyone in Rivendell was questioned, but no guard had seen Bilbo Baggins. There was only way out of his room, and it has been watched by several Elves. The Hobbit had escaped. 

****

Bilbo was cackling on his way to the Misty Mountains: “These Elves! They think they can force everyone to their will. But I won’t be swayed. They can not control me, I am my own master.” 

The hike through the mountain pass was a hardship, but less than the last time with the dwarves because the weather remained clear. After a few days, Bilbo slipped on his ring. Goblins were still living in this mountain, and he wasn’t sure he could escape them. This way, he was sure no one would notice him. He travelled swiftly, still focused on his task of walking the best he could despite his exhaustion and dazed state. Only stopping to cook and eat what he needed when his stomach grumbled. Or to lay down beside a rock and sleep when his feet tripped too much. 

He removed the ring once in the plains he knew surrounded Beorn’s house. Without it, he felt vulnerable but the weird sensation he was having while using it was tiring him. He was moving faster without it, and he knew he didn’t needed it here. 

Beorn smelled the Hobbit in his lands, and quickly found him asleep, hidden in the middle of wild bushes. The bear gently carried Bilbo in his arms and took him back to his house.


	3. I will not look at the gold of the evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,  
> Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,”
> 
> I will not look at the gold of the evening which falls,  
> Nor the faraway sails descending towards Harfleur.”  
> -Victor Hugo

All the animals gathered to watch him, and growled with worry. Beorn put Bilbo in his bed and sat in a chair next to it. 

“My friends, why do you think Bilbo is here? Why hasn’t he warned me of his visit? And why is he alone? He doesn’t seem right, what should I do?”

Yelps and bleats answered him. He scrubbed his face with his hands a few times, before rising. “You’re right, friends, I’ll warn the wizard, and the Elf-King. They’ll know what happened.” 

But the messages Beorn received half a day later puzzled the great bear. The Hobbit was in Rivendell a few weeks ago, acting strange, and vanished after one day. The Rivendell elves were worried he got some kind of sickness, because he seemed irrational and not in his usual state of mind. The Elf-King replied he would be putting sentinels in the border of Mirkwood, assuming that would be Bilbo Baggin’s next destination, if he decided to leave Beorn’s house. This way, if the elves spotted him, they could bring him to the Elf-King’s palace and try to cure him of whatever dreadful illness he got.

Beorn had some knowing in terms of healing, and the small Hobbit asleep on his bed seemed to be in good health, exhausted because of the crossing of the mountains on his own, obviously, but in good health. His curls were still bouncy, his body soft and round as it has always been. Only his cheeks were not as red as they used to be, but there could be an effect of Bilbo’s tiredness. 

In his own letter, Gandalf also that Beorn should try to hold back the Hobbit as long as it was possible, so that the wizard would try to join them as soon as he could. Gandalf had always been fond of Bilbo, and Beorn could understand why. Bilbo was a good person, always prompt for a joke, a play on words. After a glass of mead, he would start telling stories, impersonating the different characters, even if said characters were still around, and making everyone laugh. But Bilbo Baggins was not a tender sort, Beorn learned. Small he was, but great was his spirit, and his tongue was sharper than any of Beorn’s claws. 

The Hobbit woke up the next day, grumpy and hungry. Beorn gave him food without speaking a word apart from a welcome. The bear knew better than to startle the little creature with endless questioning. They spent a few quiet days in this routine, Beorn feeding Bilbo, then both of them striding quietly through the land or sitting in the grass. This attitude was not resembling the Hobbit’s habits but Beorn was patient, hoping the Hobbit would stay long enough for the wizard to appear.

Finally, after a good meal and some puffs of his pipe, when they were sitting on a bench in the garden, surrounded by flowers and bees, Bilbo started to talk softly. 

“Thank you for welcoming me, Beorn. I know I arrived with nothing like a warning, and that is not the way friends behave. I should have sent a letter, asking to be your host for a few days. That’s what the Hobbits of the Shire would do, anyway. What a dreadful guest I am, Beorn, I’m sorry.”

Beorn stayed silent, but put his gigantic hand on Bilbo’s thigh. 

“It was awful back there, Beorn. I haven’t really wrote about it in my letters, but it was. You always think you’re surrounded, you have a big family, friends that drink pints with you. But when the public opinion changes, you’re alone, really. I’m fine being on my own with books, and research. But us Hobbits are not like your kind, Beorn the bear, we are social people. My family stopped coming for tea, or when they did it was out of interest, or to gather gossips. My friends are long married and with kids. They can’t or won’t come for dinner and drinks with me.”

Bilbo sighed, and puffed at his pipe for a while.

“Five years after the quest, I organised a birthday party for my 55 years old’s birthday. People sounded excited, because the rumors of my wealth had traveled to the whole Shire. But it was a rather small birthday party, maybe 50 Hobbits invited, mostly family and close friends. I baked all of the food myself, and ordered toys from Bifur. When they heard about it, well…” 

Bilbo’s voice broke and he smoked a bit on his pipe before talking again.

“No one came, Beorn. My neighbours were waiting with me, but no one came. We have prepared the small field behind my smial, and we had to clean all the food, the tables and benches ourselves.” 

The Hobbit turned to face the bear and Beorn caught him into his arms, not wanting to stare at his friend’s eyes filled with tears. He hugged and rocked Bilbo in his embrace, until he fell asleep. Then Beorn put him back in bed and stayed a bit, sat next to him, watching Bilbo sleeping. 

This night, the animals cornered Beorn and asked him what was wrong with Bilbo.  
“He is in distress, friends, any of you can see that. I don’t know what illness he caught, for I am not a Hobbit doctor. But the wizard will know what to do, we warned him, I’m sure he’ll be here in a few days.”

Bilbo Baggins suddenly appeared by his side, startling all the animals. Making them flee with panic when he started screaming.

“I knew you were treacherous and sneaky! We have been warned to distrust the elves but I thought better of you, my friend. Acting all nice and comprehensive only to stab me in the back! Hence, I am gone!”

And before Beorn tried to reach for him or reply, the Hobbit vanished and Beorn did not see him again.

*****

Beorn received words from the Elf-King that his scouts caught Bilbo at their borders. Gandalf arrived a few days later.

“I don’t understand what happened to the little one, Gandalf. He is clearly unwell. Thranduil sent me a bird telling me they found him in Mirkwood. He was careful enough to take his bags with him before leaving my house, though I don’t know how he did to escape me and all my animal friends. The elves are escorting him to Dale, as he ordered them to do, and apparently he did not asked nicely. They are scared he is not in his right mind, and afraid he might bring danger upon himself.”

The wizard listened quietly for Beorn’s explanation, before heaving a sigh. “That’s the best any one of us can do, but try to make him stay out of harm’s way until he regain some senses. I might have an idea, of what’s troubling Bilbo Baggins, Beorn. His friends are still in the Lonely Mountain and it’s been a long time since he hasn’t seen them.”

Both their expression darkened with worry, and the wizard got up on his horse. 

“I will go and try to catch up with him. We know what his final destination is, don’t we, my friend.” 

*****

Bilbo was brooding, sat with Thranduil and his son at the dinner table. The chair was too high for him, so his feet were dangling pathetically above the floor, but that didn’t stop him from crossing his arms and sending the darkest glare he got to the King. 

“So you think I’m sick!” Bilbo finally erupted.

Thranduil’s son jumped, but the King only raised an eyebrow and glared back at Bilbo.  
“Not sick like that my friend. You ran off your house without so much of a warning, and have been irascible since then. Don’t give me that look, Bilbo Baggins, I know how rude you’ve been with two of your previous hosts. I cannot be impressed by that, see, Bilbo, I hosted 13 dwarves once, you think a Hobbit would scare me ?” 

Thranduil raised his glass toward Bilbo and smirked. “ I’m not gonna walk on eggs around you, I know you’re on your way to see your lover.”

Legolas gasped, and flinched away from the table, retreating from the storm that was already clouding the room.

“You miserable…!” Bilbo’s face was red with anger, he jumped on the chair and there, standing, shaking his fists in front of Thranduil’s face. The Elf-King did not bulge, still smiling with one eyebrow raised. Bilbo opened his mouth to finish his sentence, closed it, opened it again, then became white as a sheet. Thranduil rose and stepped in front of the Hobbit still perched in his chair. He enfolded him in his arms, the fabric of his sleeves draping around the little man. 

A single cry was heard and then loud sobs escaped from Thranduil’s arms. Legolas grimaced, the pain contained in the sounds too painful to be endured. The elven prince quietly left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to lovely Danka, Eli and Julie who re-read this fic for me :D
> 
> You can find me on tumblr: [ magic-redhead](http://magic-redhead.tumblr.com)


End file.
